Rain, rain, don’t go away.

Gratitude,

rain I am thankful. We should all be. Fact is I’m probably not thankful enough for the small things that make this life worth living. But in the context of this post, I suppose I am probably most thankful to the British weather. Our summers are patchy affairs with, generally speaking, a day or two of banner headlines like  ‘cor what a sizzler’ mixed in with ‘July flood misery’.   So, over the years of my childhood, I spent many an August day staring out at grey skies,  watching  stair rod rain bounce of the shed roof.  That was when I learned to lose myself in a book.  Those wet summer days, the cause of misery for many, were, to me,  an invitation to cleave a path through the overcoats in the wardrobe and find a lamp post, or slip back in time with a Portkey.

Yes, we all know what Portkeys are now, but I discovered one pre JKR, many years ago. In a book called The Gauntlet, by Ronald Welch.

When Peter finds the gauntlet on a Welsh hillside, he becomes the latest link in an old legend. Suddenly transported back to the fourteenth century, to a world of castles, feasts, jousts, and battles, he is accepted by everyone as the eldest son of Sir Roger de Blois. Peter learns how to live as the son of a Norman lord, how to hawk, and fight, and shoot a longbow, and, finally he has to escape alone from their besieged castle to bring help. But one day he will have to return to his own time …

This is the one that did it for me. I was 10. I was Peter. I lived his adventure. And best of all, the whole thing was set in the very landscape I could see outside my window. I connected with that book.  I devoured it.

Now that I’m grown up, I’m still grateful for the rain. Can’t garden or paint a fence in the rain. All you can do is sit down and begin another adventure.  The difference is that this time, I’m in the driving seat.

Know what? It’s still a rush.

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4 thoughts on “Rain, rain, don’t go away.

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